Doctor Who: Birthright
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
BIRTHRIGHT DOCTOR WHO – THE NEW ADVENTURES Also available: TIMEWYRM: GENESYS by John Peel TIMEWYRM: EXODUS by Terrance Dicks TIMEWYRM: APOCALYPSE by Nigel Robinson TIMEWYRM: REVELATION by Paul Cornell CAT’S CRADLE: TIME’S CRUCIBLE by Marc Platt CAT’S CRADLE: WARHEAD by Andrew Cartmel CAT’S CRADLE: WITCH MARK by Andrew Hunt NIGHTSHADE by Mark Gatiss LOVE AND WAR by Paul Cornell TRANSIT by Ben Aaronovitch THE HIGHEST SCIENCE by Gareth Roberts THE PIT by Neil Penswick DECEIT by Peter Darvill-Evans LUCIFER RISING by Jim Mortimore and Andy Lane WHITE DARKNESS by David McIntee SHADOWMIND by Christopher Bulis BIRTHRIGHT Nigel Robinson First published in Great Britain in 1993 by Doctor Who Books an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd 332 Ladbroke Grove London W10 5AH Copyright © Nigel Robinson 1993 'Doctor Who' series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation 1993 ISBN 0 426 20393 3 Cover illustration by Peter Elson Typeset by Type Out, Mitcham CR4 2AG Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. CONTENTS PROLOGUE 1 PART ONE: BENNY 13 PART TWO: ACE 109 PART THREE: BENNY & ACE 154 PART FOUR: THE TARDIS 176 EPILOGUES 216 The events of this story are contemporaneous - if such a word can be used to describe the activities of a Time Lord and his companions — with those of the New Adventure Iceberg. Prologue: The planet Antykhon, in the year 2,959 of the Great Migration Ch'tizz, the Queen of the Hive Imperial, Stewardess of the Noble Race of the Charrl, and chosen by the Goddess to be Protectoress of Antykhon, moaned silently as she climbed the steep slopes of Mount Kukúruk, trying in vain to ignore the scorching heat of the sun. She knew it was fatal to give voice to her pain and discomfort: that would be seen as a sign of weakness, and her retinue, even though they shared her sufferings, would report it back to the Chronomancers, and her life would be forfeit. As it rightly should be, Ch'tizz reflected: only the strongest and bravest were worthy to serve the Charrl and be responsible for their continued survival. Through multifaceted eyes she looked up at the blazing orb of this world's sun. The mother star of her home world, Alya, had been much kinder, she remembered: a gentle yellow sun, feeding the flower-forests and the honey- pools. But in the bizarrely storm-ridden skies of her adopted planet, the sun blazed an unnatural yellow-red, and the feeble atmosphere afforded her people little protection from its deadly ultraviolet rays. She remembered the days of the Great Migration, almost three thousand years ago now, when she had been but a newly hatched grub. Then her people had been overjoyed to find a New Alya on which to ensure the continued survival of the Species and to take refuge from the solar flares and pollution which had devastated the Hive World. But their joy had been short-lived: soil which had promised much proved to be barren, and as the years passed it seemed that even the very atmosphere itself was poisoned. Finally Ch'tizz and her companions reached Muldwych's ramshackle wooden hut, which perched on top of Mount Kukúruk like a geriatric but still occasionally threatening vulture, 1 watching over the vast and empty plains below. She indicated to her colleagues that they should wait outside, and then bent down to pass through the low doorway. Muldwych glanced up from a huge, leather-bound book as Ch'tizz entered the room. His lined and ruddy face, which hadn't seen a razor or a bar of soap for several days, betrayed no surprise at the royal visitation; rather it was almost as if he had been expecting the Queen of the Hive. For a long time. He put the book down, ran a hand through his untidy grey-brown hair, and eased himself to his feet, bowing as far as his rotund form would allow. 'Your Majesty, it's indeed a great honour,' he smiled. A little too smugly, thought Ch'tizz, but she let it pass. She had never liked Muldwych, but she tolerated him because of the secrets he had revealed to her Elders and for the great and welcome services he often performed for the Hive Race. Besides, he was now the Charrl's only hope. Muldwych offered her the threadbare easy chair in which he had been sitting, and Ch'tizz hesitated, casting a wary eye towards the door. Muldwych smiled again. 'It's perfectly all right, ma'am,' he said softly. 'Your courtiers dare not enter my hut. So, if you are tired, you may rest yourself here.' He knows too much, thought Ch'tizz, but sat down nevertheless. Her antennae, normally wrapped tightly around her bare, hard skull, quivered and expanded slightly, reacting with distaste to the sickly-sweet Mammal-stench emanating from the human. Ch'tizz tried to ignore the cloying smell which made others of her race physically sick; after all, it was widely said that the Mammals found the body odours of the Charrl just as pungent and revolting. 'Muldwych, you have done much for my people over the years,' Ch'tizz began in her thin rasping voice, which nevertheless carried a true sense of power. 'You know that has been a privilege, my dear lady,' said Muldwych, pulling out a small wooden stool and squatting down 2 at the Queen's right hand. He took a pipe from out of the pocket of his waistcoat. 'May I?' 'Of course,' said Ch'tizz, 'though what pleasure you can gain from such a habit confounds me.' Muldwych grinned, and puffed away on the pipe. 'An old man alone on his mountain must have his pleasures,' he chuckled. 'Now, how may I help you?' 'The Charrl are dying, Muldwych,' said Ch'tizz. 'Our seed is thin, and the planet we chose as the New Alya we have discovered to be a dead and forgotten world.' Muldwych looked slightly put out, but said: 'Dying, but not yet dead, your Majesty. Although it's not in the best of health, I'll allow that.' 'The best of health?' said the Queen. 'I tell you, Muldwych, it's dead! We must purify every drop of water before we can drink from a stream. Our grubs and pupae are dying because there is not enough meat, or oxygen in the air to support them, nor enough nutrients in the soil to feed them. Another thousand years on this planet and we will all be extinct!' 'Which shows a lack of judgement on the part of your Philosophers and Chronomancers when they chose Antykhon as a colony world,' Muldwych remarked. Ch'tizz ignored the slight, which, within the Hive itself, would have sent the speaker into instant exile. 'Our Philosophers decided that at one time this planet was capable of supporting the most varied forms of Life in all known Existence.' Muldwych nodded. 'True enough. Most planets can bear no more than several thousand thousand species to preserve its eco-systems and food chains. Antykhon, on the other hand, and if my research into the fossils here is correct, once teemed with millions upon uncountable millions of different life forms. Curious, that.' 'And now it can hardly bear the few native species which have stubbornly remained on it.' In which case, surely your Hives should start organizing another Migration to a more suitable and fertile world?' 3 'You know as well as I do, Muldwych, that our resources are exhausted,' rasped Ch'tizz, rapidly losing her patience. 'We no longer have the minerals to power the engines of our gravity-ships, which lie disused and forgotten in the spaceports of this world. And, even if we did, do you realize the number of planets there are in this Sector which could support the Charrl? Our Philosophers say there is not one suitable planet within a radius of ten thousand parsecs. Our race is weakened: it could never survive the centuries another Migration would require.' Muldwych puffed thoughtfully on his pipe, filling the small hut with thick blue clouds of smoke. 'All life must sometime come to an end,' he said philosophically. 'Everything gets old and falls apart in time; it even happens to me …' Ch'tizz leapt up from the chair, her powerful hindlegs shaking and rattling with emotion, and drew herself up to her full height of over seven feet. ' But not the Charrl!' she cried. For a few long seconds the Charrl Queen and the Mammal stared at each other, the one defiantly refusing to betray any emotion to the other. Then Muldwych smiled, and stood up to walk over to a stove in the corner of the hut on which a cast-iron pan of water was boiling merrily. Silently, he poured the water into an earthenware mug. A heady aroma arose from the mug. He sipped at his drink, gazing at Ch'tizz over the rim of the mug, deliberately prolonging the silence. 'Tea,' he explained to Ch'tizz's unspoken question. 'A noxious infusion of dried leaves ...' Ch'tizz said nothing, just stared through unblinking eyes at Muldwych.